On the day that exhaustion finally overwhelms me, I take Jobe to breakfast, see Lynxton with his eyes open and take a publicity photo for National Book of the Year finalist Debby Edwardson

I am not quite certain how I managed to get out of bed today, but I did. Then, the only thing that I wanted to do was to go right back to bed, but I decided to try to stay up and make some kind of day of it. So I took Jobe to breakfast at Mat-Su Valley Family Restaurant - just the two of us.

Margie stayed home to have some peace and quiet.

Breakfast was pretty interesting. The table got completely rearranged. Sugar, Splenda and jam packets wound up spread across the table, on the seats and on the floor beneath the table. A packet of half-and-half milk and cream got splattered across the seats, the table, the wall, and the window.

Jobe was content and happy threw-out. He loves to be with his grandpa. His grandpa loves to be with him.

This poor young reflected lady was among those who had to clean up after Jobe. She said she didn't mind. She said this was a kid-friendly place. Lots of mothers work here. I left a big tip... about 45 percent.

On Friday, I mentioned that I had not seen Lynxton with this eyes open since the day he was born, now three-and-a-half weeks ago. I said that I might see him Saturday and maybe his eyes would be open then. That was because I thought that after the Barrow Whalers championship game in Chugiak, I would go ahead and drive the extra 15 miles or so into Anchorage, where I could see him.

But when that game ended, I felt so tired and weary that I could do only one thing - get in the car and drive home. It was not the game that wore me out. It was the way I have been living for how long now? One push on top of another, sleep-shorted night upon sleep shorted night... Once I reached home, I got a blanket, lay down on the couch, three cats came to join me and I fell into a strange sleep, one where I am vaguely conscious of the world about me even as I dance in and out of dreams, for two hours. 

Afterward, I did not want to get up off that couch at all. I just wanted to stay there, staying in that strange and pleasant sleep for the remainder the day, through the night, all the next day, the following week and the month afterward.

But I had things to do so I got up.

This afternoon, Lynxton came to the house.

He was here for several hours, during which his eyes were open for maybe three minutes.

Here they are, open.

The rest of the time, he was sleeping.

Just like I wanted to be.

My schedule and the way that I have been living has finally caught up to me.

Lynxton's beautiful mother, Lavina.

I will tell you how tired I am. When I first tried to name the picture of Jobe and me that appears at the top of this post, I could not remember how to spell his name. Joby? Jobie?

I couldn't remember!

Finally, it came to me, slowly out of the haze that my brain now dwells in.

J-o-b-e.

Jobe.

Jobe!

This is not Jobe - this is Charlie and Jim and they are working for me.

This afternoon, I received an email from Book of the Year finalist Debby Edwardson. She wondered if I was going to go into Anchorage for her booksigning at the museum. She needed a publicity photo of herself to send to New York no later than early in the morning, East Coast time.

She said if I was not going to come in, she could drive out with George and I could shoot one here.

At first I thought, well, maybe I will go in. It will be fun.

But I couldn't. I was just too exhausted. This would be the first full day that I stayed home in how long? Long time. I could not go. I feared I might drive right off the road.

I thought maybe I could pose her by the front window, where I could get a nice, soft, shape-defining light, but then it became clear that she would not be able to get here until that light had dwindled beyond usefulness.

Regular readers know that I am an available light man. I rarely ever pick up a flash or any other kind of light. I will use whatever light is there and make it work. I did this even before digital and its high ISO's. Even on film, I shot pictures in light so low that many of my fellow photographers said it could not be worked with, but I worked with it.

If I were to shoot Debby's photo this way, it would mean lamps and such, and ISO's at 6400 or 3200 maybe.

I could get a good photo this way, yet, I knew that her publicity people would not want that kind of photo.

So I dug up a strobe light that I had not used in years. I felt very uncomfortable with it. I needed to do some test work - bounce it off this and that, at that angle and this, until I got it to shape the light the way I wanted.

Charlie and Melanie appeared at the door. So I set Charlie down with Jim, gave Melanie a large, white, flat, paper box to bounce the already bounced light off as fill and then shot a few test shots.

None of them worked. I did not get the light I wanted - but I did get this image of Jim and Charlie.

Then Debby arrived, with husband George and granddaughter Josie. In addition to being descended from a long line of Inupiat whalers, George told me that Josie is also descended from a genuine Norwegian king.

"She is a real princess," he said.

As I had not yet got my light, I conducted a couple of experimental lighting shots on George and Josie while Debby combed her hair.

I didn't quite have the light I wanted yet, but I was getting there. It would be a tight head and shoulders shot, so all that distracting stuff in the background would not be a problem.

Then I did a couple of light experiments on Debby herself, with Josie peering over her shoulder.

I still did not quite have it, but we talked Josie out of the frame and I shot it anyway - and somehow, it worked out just right.

I am not going to post the picture here, but will leave it to the publicists to do with it as they will.

Debby's book, My Name is Not Easy, a finalist for the Young People's Literature Book of the Year Award, was released October 1. As of this afternoon, that first printing of 5000 is completely sold out. Book stores across the country are asking for more.

The second printing is coming soon - I don't know how large it will be, but much more than 5,000, I'm sure.

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We celebrate my birthday in Anchorage to the taste of Arctic char from Kaktovik

On the evening of my birthday, I drove into Anchorage where most of the rest of my family already was. Margie had been staying with Jacob and Lavina since the day that I left for Kaktovik, as Jobe had been a little under the weather and she needed to take care of him while Lavina worked.

Soon after I arrived, Lavina threw a few of the Arctic char that I had brought back from Kaktovik onto the grill.

These particular char were given to me by Marie Rexford. Elizabeth Rexford also gave me a generous number from the cache of she and husband Fenton.

Oh, boy, was it tasty! Char is one of my favorite fish - right up there with salmon, halibut and trout.

Thank you, Marie, Fenton and Elizabeth - your generosity made my birthday extra special.

I will still try to work a few char fishing pictures in here, maybe tomorrow, maybe Sunday, maybe Monday.

I am told that Kalib still wields the spatula - usually on a weekend morning when he is cooking eggs, but I have not personally seen him carry the spatula for awhile.

It had been rainy and cool when I drove out of Wasilla, but when I got out of the car at Jacob and Lavina's house, the sun shone brightly upon me and I was surprised by how hot it felt - just like I remember from the southern Arizona desert.

Well, maybe not quite that hot.

We ate on the table that graces the back deck of Jacob and Lavina's house. When I sit here, I am always amazed at the typical American suburban environs my son and daughter-in-law have planted themselves in and how comfortable they seem within.

After dinner, a few of us sat in the living room and talked while others readied something out in the kitchen that I was not supposed to see just yet.

It was Lisa whose stories dominated the conversation, and they were mostly about the dogs that she had been caring for while their owners were away. One day, she came to the house to find that one of the dogs had pooped on important tax papers. She had to save those papers, and the process involved rubber gloves and drying and sterilizing things and it was not pleasant.

Charlie said the dog had only done what everybody wants to do.

After she told the story, Jacob came out with Jobe. Jobe tackled Jacob.

Look up there, on the wall. It's Jobe's Apache cradleboard, the one made especially for him by one of the most skilled cradleboard makers on the White Mountain Apache Reservation - his Aunt LeeAnn.

Jobe will never sleep in it again.

That makes me kind of sad, yet I so greatly enjoy watching him grow, learn and experience.

Margie came out, pulled the curtains and turned out the lights. Then Melanie entered from the kitchen, followed by Kalib, Margie and Lavina. She carried the object that I had not been allowed to see until now. It was a flaming cake that she had made, just for me.

Count the number of candles and you will see that on my birthday, I turned younger than I had been for five decades.

The little ones watched intently as grandma inhaled a deep breath. Could he do it? Not quite!

So Kalib, the expert candle blower-outer, finished the job.

Once again, I drove home by myself. Jobe was doing quite a bit better, but Lavina's good friend, Sandy, has hit her due date and could go into labor at any minute. She wants Lavina with her when she delivers and Lavina has promised that she will be. 

Jacob had to leave for Kipnuk early in the morning, so Margie stayed to be on hand to care for the little ones should another little one choose the next day to be born.

This is what I saw as I neared Wasilla, just a few minutes before midnight.

Midnight won't look like this for much longer.

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A brief, incomplete, look at Father's Day just past - furry Jim and Furless Jim

My documentation of Father's Day began in the morning, as I returned home from my walk by coming in through the back, through the remnant of now-dried up marsh and woods. I found Jacob, Kalib and Muzzy in the back yard, Jacob pulling old stumps and such.

Kalib was wearing a red t-shirt that hung nearly to his ankles and gave him kind of a mischievous, sleepy-angel look and he wanted his dad to walk off into the trees with him.

His dad did not want to stop what he was doing and so told him grandpa would walk with him.

Hence, Kalib walked into the trees and I followed, taking pics as I did.

I think I captured something unique and special on that short little walk, but readers will not find it in here, at least not today. A read of yesterday's post will reveal the kind of problems that I am currently experiencing with this computer.

Once it takes a few minutes to figure out where it is and what program it is, the computer can handle word processing and basic internet tasks just fine, but when it comes to photo editing and photo processing tasks, it turns into an absolute nightmare.

As simple click that, when the computer is working as it should will result in almost instantaneous completion of the task can now result in ten minutes of doing nothing but watching the Mac colorwheel spin. It is not a bug, it is not a virus, but something has gone fundamentally wrong with this computer - maybe in the RAM.

So, it would probably take me an entire day - certainly half the day - to sort through the photos of that walk in Lightroom and then open them up in Photoshop just to complete the series that I believe is in the photos from that walk.

And I took many other pictures - Lavina barbecuing meat and veggies to all of us - and there were many of us - gathered around the backyard picnic table where we began to eat, but then it started to rain and I didn't care but everybody else did so we moved inside.

There, I took more pictures. I knew I faced an impossible editing task, so, when I took this one, I said to myself, "I will run that one and that can be it for the whole blog."

It is furry Jim sitting on the lap of Furless Jim while Muzzy sits out on the porch, wanting to get it, wanting to get at the beef and pork that Lavina had barbecued.

"Furless Jim," longtime readers will recall, is Jim Earnshaw, Charlie's dad. He and Cyndy came out and joined us. So all the kids were here (although Caleb slept through it all in preparation for his nightshift), grandkids and Charlie, who I also consider to be one of the kids these days.

Furless Jim is a genuine cat person - and dog person, too. Furry Jim knows this and took full advantage of it.

Shortly after I took the one picture that I marked for today's blog, Jobe came by to communicate with furry Jim as he rested on the lap of Furless Jim and I thought, "what the heck, these two pictures are right close together and so I will add it in, too.

So here they are, Jobe, furry Jim, and Furless Jim.

Although at this point I do not know where the money is going to come from, I have made up my mind that I am going to return to India in November for Soundarya's one-year memorial - and if the timing works out, for Sujtha's wedding as well. That will take me away at a bad time, because Sandy's death came on Lisa's birthday and it will also be Thanksgiving weekend, so I was talking to Lisa about that and she decided to come with me.

She can't afford to do that, but not being able to afford something is not always a good reason not to do it. So it looks like she will be coming with me. I hope so.

Jim and Cyndy brought some excellent potato salad and some celestial rhubard/blackberry cat; Charlie baked cookies and prepared black coffee, which we took late with the pastries.

Superb.

People began to depart a bit after 9:00 PM, with Melanie and Charlie the last to leave, shortly before 10:00 PM. Since they were the last, I figured it would not be that huge of an editing problem to go to the very end of my take and include this picture of them driving away, waving goodbye, on today's blog.

I then faced a minor writing task that I figured would probably take me until 3:00 or 4:00 AM to complete, but I needed a little exercise and some air first, so I got on my bike and pedaled off into the rain.

As I was nearing home, a little before 11:00 PM, some neighbors who are among the many who migrated to Wasilla from the former Soviet Block as it came apart and who live down the street, around the corner, down that street and around another corner, pulled up alongside me.

They matched their car pace to mine, rolled down the window and asked how I was doing.

We had not seen each other for many months, maybe over a year.

I told them I was doing good, and asked how they were doing.

They were doing good, too.

As I pedaled and we conversed, I shot a few frames, not looking through the viewfinder but just pointing my camera in their general direction.

That made this the last picture of the day, right next to Melanie and Charlie departing. So I decided to add it into the blog mix. 

I arrived home about 11:05 PM and found Margie on the couch, alternately watching Law & Order and dozing off for a few minutes. She was exhausted. So I sat down with her until the show was over.

Now I figured it would take me until 4:00 or 5:00 AM to finish off that minor writing task and I was tired.

I said to hell with it, I've put in too many all-nighters in my life and that probably has a lot to do with why I live in an almost perpetual state of brain-fried exhaustion.

I decided just to go to bed and do the writing task today. That means I cannot take my computer into the shop until tomorrow.

Oh, well.

Everything will get done and we will survive - perhaps not in grand fashion; maybe we will have to sell the house and move into a small RV and live on the road, but we will survive.

And I got to sleep a little bit.

I still feel tired, though. Brain-fried and exhausted.

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Jobe's stepping out party, finale: Kalib wields a big knife and cooks cajun; bull rider, wild daughters, et al, Friday... Friday... Friday

Although there is more that I could do with it, it is time to wrap this party up. If I don't, Jobe will be jogging through the park with Muzzy and I will still be blogging about his first step stepping out party.

So, anyway, here is Kalib, wielding a big knife to cut up a patato for the soup that he is cooking, Cajun style.

It kind of scared me to see Kalib wield such a big knife, but Jacob closely monitored and oversaw every movement.

After putting the potatoes into the soup, Jacob chopped up some fresh seasoning. Kalib scoops it up.

Kalib throws the seasoning into one of the three pots of stew being cooked.

Kalib chucks shrimp into one of the other pots. It splashed on my lens and I had to take some time out to clean it.

After I cleaned my lens, I was headed back to photograph Kalib adding the final ingredients, but I was distracted by a rodeo bull rider in the hall. The bull rider was Kalib and Jobe's cousin, Ashley Bismarck Atene. The bull was Muzzy.

When I finally made it back to the kitchen, I found that the final ingredient, crab, had been added to the mix. For any readers who do not know, Charlie works for an air freight company that hauls goods around Alaska. The crab were part of a shipment that came in from Nome and Charlie was able to pick the crab up at bargain basement prices.

His work done, Kalib observes as Lisa and Bryce arrive.

Lisa hugs her mom as Jobe shows off his walking toes and chubby hands.

My daughters went wild. Lisa pulled up a video on YouTube and they sat there laughing at it, mocking it. Bryce and Charlie joined in. I had to know what it was about. They said that it was the worst video ever made and that, as such, it was now the most popular video in all the world.

So I took a look and this is what I saw, this girl and other girls and an older guy, even, singing about Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday. The worst thing about it, my wild daughters said, is that once you hear the song, you cannot get it out of your head and from then on you will just be hearing, "Friday, Friday, Friday..." over and over in your mind until you go insane.

Maybe if you are young, gullible and impressionable this would be true. But for a more mature, seasoned, disciplined brain like mine, it proved to be no problem. The song did not stick.

His grandma had been holding Jobe, but Friday he wanted to try to do some more walking.

Friday...

He walked to his Friday Aunt Lisa - but he used the Friday couch to cheat a bit.

Friday... Friday... Friday....

He Friday walked to his Friday mom.

Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....

Then it was Friday time for Friday Jobe to go to bed. He became a Friday shark.

Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....

And Friday Jake suffered a Friday shark attack.

Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....

Ashley's  Friday parents had been to a Friday  movie, but they Friday came back to pick Friday Ashley up in time to eat. So here they Friday are: Friday Julie Bismarck, Anthony Friday (Ants) Atene and Friday Ashley. Ants is Lavina's Friday brother. He came up from Friday Arizona a few years back Friday to visit and work and that is when Friday he met Julie, who is Athabascan Friday from Tyonek.

Since then, their Friday lives have been Friday divided up between the Friday Navajo Nation and Friday Anchorage.

Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....

This is Julian, Friday their youngest, close Friday to Jobe's age. He slept the whole Friday time I was there.

When I came home, I left Margie Friday so that she could babysit Jobe. Last night, Friday, I went back to pick her up, Friday Friday but Jobe was not feeling well, so I  Friday again returned home by Friday myself.

Depending on how Friday Jobe is feeling, I will go back and Friday pick her up tonight or Friday not.

Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....Friday... Friday... Friday....

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I follow Charlie to a tough Fur Face battle at Miners and Trappers, where I find myself in Wonderland; Miss Rondy Queen; Kalib and Jobe

As I had already made a post on Charlie grabbing the championship at the UAA Winterfest Beard Contest, I knew that I had to follow him into the big-time Anchorage Fur Rendezvous Fur Face competition at the beard contest that took place last night at the Miners and Trappers Ball. Tickets were pricey, so I got myself a press pass.

Miners and Trappers is a costume ball and this year's theme was "Highways in the Sky - A salute to Alaska Aviators." I stuck religiously to the theme and dressed as an Alaskan photographer/aviator who used to fly his little airplane all about Alaska and hopes to get another and do so again in the future.

The ball was held at the Egan Convention Center on Fifth Avenue, so I parked a few blocks away, hiked through the night and entered, looking for Charlie and Melanie, expecting to see tons of people dressed like Alaskan pilots.

Once inside, this was the first costumed person I came upon.

I suddenly knew that I had entered Wonderland.

I walked around looking for Melanie and Charlie, but I could not find them. Shortly, however, I came upon this rugged looking guy - Mr. Kenneth C. Feiber - who would not only be entering the Mr. Fur Face beard contest, but would be competing in the same category as Charlie - the Ptarmagan category, or freestyle.

At the UAA contest, as soon as I saw the competition charlie faced, I was quite certain he would walk away with it.

When I looked into this face, chill dread shook my body. I knew that on this night, here in Wonderland, Charlie was about to face a real battle.

In the restroom, I found Santa Claus, eying himself in the mirror, trying to look tough. Santa, however, would pose no threat to Charlie - at least in the first round - for Santa was entering as a Polar Bear and a Pole Cat and Charlie was neither.

During his round of competition, in answer to a judges question about how it was to have so many women run their fingers through his beard, Santa would answer that it felt normal. Women always run their fingers through Santa's beard.

He would not win first, however, but second.

I searched through all the hallways, the cloak room, the Fur Face room and every room but the ladies restroom and main ballroom, because I could see through the door that it was dark in there and I did not think that people who wanted their beards to be seen would disappear into the dark.

But, since I couldn't find them anywhere else or connect with my phone, I stepped briefly into the ballroom. It was early yet and only a few people had gathered.

I found this fellow on the stage, making music.

I did not find Charlie and Melanie.

And then... I found them! Charlie, the grand winner of the UAA beard contest and his magnificent stylist, my own daughter Melanie.

I could see right away that Charlie was dressed as the moon, his beard pummeled by meteors just as is the surface of the moon. I did not for one moment wonder if perhaps he was supposed to be a bearded baby wearing some kind of strangely designed bonnet, his beard curled by upchucked curdled breast milk.

I did not think this because a baby would never shoes such as this, the right of the pair that Charlie had on his feet, but a moon would wear such shoes.

Here is a better look at Charlie's moon, pocked by craters, and his beard, also pocked by craters.

Oh-oh - it wasn't long before Charlie encountered Fieber. It was tense - just like when Mohammed Ali faced Sonny Liston before going into the ring. They cursed and threatened each other, and insulted each other's mothers.

They did it all in a very jovial manner, smiling, as though the whole world of bearddom was filled with nothing but good will - but beneath the veneer of good humor, the boiling anger, rivalry and tension could be felt.

Karle came only to root for Charlie. He did not intend to enter. However, when he saw that only one other person had entered the black bear category, he signed up, figuring that at the very worst, he would take second place.

Well, he had a surprise coming to him. By the time he stepped in front of the judges, there had been three or four more new entrants.

Now he faced some real competition.

He would not get his second place award.

He would take first.

This left the rest us all shocked, dumbfounded, and awestruck.

Charlie had not intended to enter the Honey Bear category, but somehow found himself being labeled a Honey Bear, onstage with the other Honey Bears.

This is not a battle that he had prepared for.

He gave it his best, subjecting his craters to the exploratory touch of random, pink-haired females, but he did not even make it into the finals.

His friend, however, Todd Davy Crocket, who readers met at the UAA contest, did. And he won second place. This will probably seem most unfair to the first place winner that I have placed Todd's picture here but not his, but, you know, life is not always fair.

Plus, there were all kinds of categories, and all kinds of winners - short ones and tall ones and fat ones and skinny ones, the rude and the erudite, male and female, the debonaire and the debunked and I just cannot picture them all.

So I'm sticking pretty much to those I know, at least a little bit.

I was pretty certain Charlie would be devastated by that loss. In fact, he was - but he was stoic, pulled himself back together, put on the face of good humor, found out that he could still be a ptarmigan.

He resolved that there, he would rise to fight again.

I thought about the guy with the four circles curled into his beard.

Again, that bitter chill shook my body as I thought about the tooth-and-nail, hand-to-hand, beard-to-beard fight that still lay ahead for our good-hearted Charlie.

Well before the Ptarmigans, the Mountain Goats took the stage. I could not believe my eyes when I saw my own nephew, Thos Swallow from Salt Lake City, walk out onto the stage.

Oh, he used an assumed name and denied altogether that he was Thos, but a quick glance at the pictures that I took at Thos's wedding last October prove beyond any doubt that this is Thos.

How in the heck did he grow such a long, mountain-goat beard in less than five months?

And you know what?

He won! Thos won first place in the Mountain Goat division.

I was going to invite him over for dinner, perhaps even to spend the night and save a hotel bill, but he pretended not to know me, so I didn't.

At the back of the room, a gang of beer-drinking nuns and priests called on me to repent. We spoke for a little while. I warned them that if they kept drinking that beer, they might accidently break their oaths of celibacy. They assured me that they would never do such a thing.

They still insisted that I must repent.

I told them I was not Catholic but grew up Mormon.

Their eyes went wide. "YOU REALLY NEED TO REPENT!" they demanded.

Finally, the Ptarmigans stepped before the judges - including Charlie and Kenneth C. Fieber. They both fought hard, standing there, as grimy fingers that had been who knows wherre pawed at their beards all over again.

For many of the categories that preceded them, it had taken the judges quite awhile to settle upon the winner, but in just minutes, the judges announced that they had already chosen the Ptarmigan winners.

First, they announced the second place winner - Kenneth C Fieber.

The emcee put the mic to Fieber's face and asked how he felt to have come in second.

Fieber said he didn't like it. "I should be first," he said.

Let me stress that I am serious. I am not joking. Fieber contended that he should have been first.

But they had announced that he was second.

It was a done deal.

The door was open to Charlie.

Charlie was beaming, waiting to be named first place.

But then a hand rose into the air from the judges table and began to wave frantically.

A message was relayed to the emcee.

She then informed the crowd that a horrible mistake had been made.

Her earlier annoucement was wrong.

Kenneth C. Feiber had not won second place, he had won first!

Charlie won second.

Despite the setback, Charlie continued to beam.

So the contest was over for Charlie. Charlie would not get to enter the final round to battle for the Mr. Fur Face Trophy.

I suppose that if I had been functioning as the serious photojournalist that I am, I would have hung tight to the very end and would have photographed the final Mr. Fur Face, sat him down for an interview and then published his life story, right here on this blog.

But I had left Margie at Jacob and Lavina's and I hoped to get back there in time to see Jobe and Kalib before they went to bed.

I would have rushed straight out, but there was a young woman who I had been keeping my eye out for all evening: Desiree Merculieff, this year's Miss Rondy Queen.

Desiree is Unangan, from the Pribilof Island village of St. George and now lives in Anchorage.

She is the daughter of Sally and Chris Merculief, who still live on the island and who treated Melanie kindly when she spent some time working on a road project there this past summer.

And now, just when it was time to go, Desiree appeared and offered her congratulations to Charlie and Todd for their second place wins.

Sadly, she can only wear her official Miss Rondy Queen regalia when her chaperones are with her.

Although she had never been in sight of my eyes in it, she had worn the regalia to the ball, but her chaperones had grown tired and left, so we found Desiree dressed in street clothes - but still beautiful.

Her parents, Chris and Sally, are in the background with Melanie.

So here she is, Miss Rondy Queen: Desiree Merculieff - the first Alaska Native to wear the crown in 22 years. Everywhere she went, her mother told me, the Native people that saw her - especially the elders - expressed their pride and Joy in the honor that she had earned.

Sometime, before her reign is over, perhaps I can be fortunate enough to catch and photograph Desiree dressed in her full regalia. She must get permission to do an interview, but maybe we can get that permission.

No promise.

I never know what will happen in the future.

But maybe.

I said "goodbye" and headed toward the door. Before I could reach it, I found my path blocked by The Five Amigos. I drew my Canon and shot my way through them.

I stepped from the Fur Face room into the hall and was startled to find the answer to Paul Simon's lingering question, "Where have you gone, Joe Dimaggio?" standing right before me. 

Right here - Joe Dimaggio had come right here, to the Miners and Trappers Ball of the Anchorage Fur Rendezvous!

And he had ressurected Marilyn Monroe - more abundantly endowed than ever - and had brought her to the ball with him.

And me, I had the privileged of snapping the both of them as I walked by.

Think of it - Joe Dimaggio and Marilyn Monroe, together again, photographed by me in the year 2011! I ought to be able to get at least $10 million dollars for this photograph!

Then I will finally have the resource necessary to do this blog the way I want.

I will finally be able to buy another airplane.

But what if it wasn't Marilyn and Joe? What if it was just two Alaskans, dressed in costume? 

Depressed, I stepped out of the Egan Center onto Fifth Avenue only to see this airplane, flying down the sidewalk.

I had my answer! I can build my own airplane - just like this guy did. It won't cost much to build such an airplane and it won't take very long, either.

I could do it in a day.

And then I could fly all over Alaska, just like I started out doing, before I crashed the Running Dog.

It was after 10:30 PM now. I was a bit worried that Kalib and Jobe might have gone to bed already.

But they had waited up, for me.

Jacob had given Kalib one of those green dog biscuits called "Greenies" and had told him to feed it to Muzzy. Instead, Kalib had taken a bite and was eating it himself.

Jobe, as always, was simply thrilled to see his grandpa.

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